MARK MURPHY

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Chapter 3

The storm hit when it was still dark outside.

Malcolm awoke at 4 AM with a full bladder and an empty stomach. He relieved himself and went downstairs to rummage through the kitchen for something—anything!—to eat. There was, of course, some leftover spaghetti in a Tupperware bowl. He also found a package of Swiss cheese, a package of sliced turkey and two jars of pickles, in addition to a vast array of dressings, condiments, and sauces.

After he found a container of sauerkraut and a still-full bottle of Thousand Island dressing, Malcolm decided to construct a turkey Reuben. A toasted turkey Reuben, in fact. Continue Reading…

Chapter 8

The detective kept his hat on at first.

It was a black felt fedora, the kind that can be crushed and retain its shape, and he had it pulled low on his forehead so that Malcolm could not see his eyes.

That’s weird, Malcolm thought.

“Sam Baker,” the detective said, extending his hand. “I’m one of the officers assigned to this case. Thanks for coming in.” Continue Reading…

Chapter 15

Timmy was late.

The sun was low on the horizon, and he knew what that meant. Mom was going to be furious if he got home after dark.

His front tire caught on a pine cone as he made the sharp turn at Bluff Drive. He almost slipped.

Almost.

But Timmy had great balance. That’s what Coach Fox always said in P.E.: “You’ve got some wheels, young man.” Which was Coach Fox lingo for having great balance. All the kids knew that.

Timmy lurched to the left, instinctively countering the shift in weight as the bike tried to skid out from beneath him, and the wheels of his Raleigh Record snapped back in line like he knew they would. Timmy chugged past the marina parking lot, knees churning. He did not even glance at the scores of bobbing Grady-Whites and Sea Pros tied up at the Isle of Hope Marina.. Continue Reading…